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Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday October 21, 2002 Volume IV Number 42 |
FOCUS - The President's Room
It’s time to tell you a little about my Mom.
She’s arrived at a new milestone. This week. Let’s just call it three quarters of a century.
Yes, that’s relatively young, considering my age. She was barely twenty when I was born. I don’t think she’ll mind me telling you. She and I have grown up together.
When I was in the sixth grade, she was thirty-one. When I left home, she was thirty-eight. I look randomly at twenty-year-old women now and sometimes I think, “Wow. That’s what my mom looked like when I was born.” It’s a stunning thought. Then I’ll see a thirty-one year old, same thing. And so on.
Somehow, we got here. Both of us. We look at each other and just smile. To date, it’s been quite a journey.
I was a junior in high school when Mom delivered her seventh child. He would be the last. Not many of my teammates had nursing mothers watching the football games from up there in the bleachers on Friday night, but I did.
I remember my grandparents on my father’s side shaking their heads at the news of yet another addition to the brood. The family just grew. And grew. The cars got larger and larger. You’d guess the Germans had our troop in mind when they created the Volkswagen Micro Bus. Dad bought a succession of those rolling boxes every few years. Each blew an engine at thirty five thousand miles or so from simple over-load.
That youngest brother of mine is now a successful businessman, married to a bright and charming woman. The two of them chase four terrific kids ages three through ten around the neighborhood during the week – lessons and sporting events and parent-teacher conferences in which they are regularly informed that they have exceptional children. Rob and Diane shrug and smile, as though they are surprised at the assessment. But none of us are.
So this week the seven of us rented a room at Rob’s Country Club up there in the hills and in the President’s Room celebrated Mom’s 75th.
All of us, spouses included (save one who was sadly and inescapably out of town and unable to attend), laughed the night away in one of those rare adults-only dinners by china and crystal and candlelight and fine cuisine around a massive elegant table in the high back chairs until long after the regular closing hour. There was but one conversation going the whole evening. That never happens.
There are twenty-two grandchildren. There is an unlikely possibility that number may increase; but from all appearances twenty-three will be the sum total. Isaac is the first great-grandchild, and maybe that’s one more reason why his passing was mourned so deeply. But as we celebrated Mom’s birthday this week, Isaac’s soon-to-arrive little brother is the topic of much anticipation. So the great-grandchildren are about to arrive, multiplying the branches on the family tree… and I suppose the remaining years of our lives our calendars will be filled with dedications and graduation ceremonies and weddings and baby showers and weekend competitions and awards banquets and the premier showings of video reports of exploits all over the globe and invitations to support mission expeditions and family reunions and gatherings that will require an ever greater capacity for parking and industrial strength kitchens.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve heard people ask my Mom, “How did you do it?” And I know what they are asking – how did you survive those relentless years raising that wonderful brood and now - how do you keep up with the ever expanding clan and all their activities and my Mom has always had the same response.
“I have no idea,” she answers, laughing in amazement herself.
* * * * * * * *
Dad’s been gone now for five years. To the end, Mom devoted her energies to caring for his needs. Now, she’s become the Matriarch, the glue that holds together this collection of relatives. The dictionary defines matriarch as “a woman, usually a grandmother, who is highly respected by her family and to whom the family turns for advice and help.” It certainly fits.
Mom’s emotions are always there, ready for expression. They usually take their cue from yours. She identifies readily with your mood; she listens with more than her ears. It’s a spiritual thing. Her spirit tunes in to yours. It covers the broad range of the human condition – whether it’s disappointment, celebration, accomplishment, abandonment, achievement, a gain or a loss, rejection or promotion, a dreadful diagnosis or an extraordinary feat of physical strength, upon the hearing she mirrors it back because in some mysterious manner, she really does feel it with you. She’ll laugh or sigh or weep, wrapping you in a hug either way, whichever is appropriate for the moment.
That’s why people seek her out. They want to tell her their stories. They call, or drop by, or schedule a breakfast or a lunch or a tea, because they know across the table will be someone who understands and affirms and supports. And when it’s done, the burden will be just a little lighter, there will be enough strength to try one more time or there will be just enough resolve to get through one more day. And they want to come back for more, sometime soon.
I don’t know for sure where it came from - this capacity my mother has for empathy. It came from some kind of deep fresh water well or some vast magnetic reserve of human connectivity from somewhere in the DNA of pre-historic soup; but I’ve come to believe that somewhere in the age old traditions of motherhood, my mother got a sizable helping of that genetic material that makes a person, well, motherly. Regardless of what the scientists say, I think it came from Heaven.
Her children now are maturing themselves. Enough time has passed for each to emerge as a seasoned adult. Parenting does that. It seasons. Each mirrors a clear reflection of their mother. I have three brothers and three sisters. We are all incurable family types.
One brother, a broadcasting executive, entertained us in the President's Room with animated stories of the past, when he and another brother, a commercial real estate developer and CFO, guided tours at the Haunted Shack at Knott’s Berry Farm. One sister, with two daughters of her own, was fresh in from a rehearsal for a Christmas pageant – she and her husband will sing in the this year’s grand production. Another sister and her husband surprised Mom, walking into the dining room unexpectedly, just off the plane from Denver. A third sister, mother of two terrific boys and respected executive for a global Fortune 500 computer company taps into Mom’s childcare service a couple times every week. She and her husband and her sons keep Mom entertained. But tonight, the children were in the care of someone else while the rest of us partied late into the evening.
The four sisters-in-law (including Carolyn) and three brothers-in-law, well, thanks to Mom, are as much a part of the family as if they’d been around since the day they were born. So the stories went on around the elegant dining table in the President’s Room, and the remember whens, and a few more old secrets got revealed now that it doesn’t matter much anymore. The laughter was loud and long. A couple times during the evening, the boundaries of decorum were crossed, ever-so-briefly, but hey, we’re family, Mom would say.
No one really wanted to leave. But we’re all getting a little older now and somewhere around midnight, it was time to close out an unforgettable night.
Mom stood by the door as each hugged her and wished her a very happy birthday.
I think it was.
* * * * * * * *
The next morning, Kristyn showed up at Grandma’s house. We were there with the Colorado contingent for a lazy Saturday morning drinking coffee and talking some more.
Kristyn is showing now. No mistaking it. “I like being pregnant,” she told us, “people are so nice to you.” The only question she’s weary of, she went on, is the old, “how are you feeling?” Most everyone wants to know.
She came bearing flowers to acknowledge her grandmother’s birthday, but I think she came for another reason. It was a gathering of her aunts and her own Mom at Grandma’s house, and now, with the expectation of the arrival of her own child (a boy, the ultrasound says) she has something primal in common with these women, and as our daughter was welcomed I got the impression that there was nowhere else on planet earth she’d rather be.
My
sister, oldest of the three girls, inherited a generous helping of Mom’s
character. She had a gift for Kris. A figurine. From the Willow Tree
Collection. It’s a carving of a young woman in a simple full length dress,
standing tall, long hair flowing down over her shoulders, pulled back, with hands
gently caressing her own enlarged midsection, a woman who represents all those
who at that moment stood around Kris, all with tears in their eyes, welcoming a
newcomer into an elite maternal order. This beautiful daughter of mine
will get all the help and support she’ll ever need.
This is the stuff that can’t be bought.
* * * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
You’ve got a Mom. I trust she’s still a telephone call away. Perhaps not. Mom’s don’t live forever, and maybe the memories are bittersweet.
Take a moment to think about the place she has in your life. Even now.
As a society, we’re well past those awful days when we devalued the role a mother plays in our world. It’s a unique role. There are no limits to the contribution a woman can make in the workplace. But at home, no one else can do the things a mother does. And it never ends.
I watch our kids relate to their Grandmother, and I thank God for the important place she occupies in their life. These timeless skills get passed down through the generations. That’s the way it should be. I listen in as the kids call home for their mother, Carolyn. They want to tell her what’s going on. Her interest and her care give our kids a center, a home, a point of reference, a source of strength.
And Mom’s still my Mom. She still tunes in to my life, after all these years. In fact, as you read these words, know that she’s reading, too. She’s read everything I’ve written.
So Mom – this one’s for you.
May your example inspire others. No one else can do what you do. Look around you. Check out those photographs on the wall. It's an impressive collection of wonderful people.
Your imprint has marked everyone of them.
For good.
For God.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2002
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
LeaderFOCUS is a service of Good Stewardship Associates
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